Accidents Will Happen
by codenamepapabear
Summary: After a German general arrives at Stalag 13 with a batch of stolen art and Hogan's initial plan goes wrong, the Heroes are faced with a challenge: rescue the art, fake a Gestapo raid as a cover up, and keep themselves out of suspicion, all in the span of a few hours.
1. Chapter 1

It was rare that Klink ever had company. The pompous Prussian was so naturally repellent to other members of the German army that he had usually had to beg and plead to convince his fellow officers to come to Stalag 13. Return visitors were nearly nonexistent. Klink's no-escape record was just as much of a mystery to the German high command as was Hitler's steadfast belief in astrology, and anyone with any sense avoided the place like a plague. Therefore, almost everyone who crossed through Stalag 13's dilapidated gates was an unwilling captive of the war effort, either an officer who'd been sent that way for official business or a prisoner who was there simply because he had no other choice.

This evening was one of those instances. A German general with a truckload of stolen art from France had stopped by, in need of a place to stash his loot before the Free French found him and stole it all back. Naturally, the Unsung Heroes were thrilled about this opportunity. The more plundering, the better. Newkirk suggested replacing all the canvases in their frames with defaced propaganda pictures of Hitler, but Hogan consulted with Carter and came up with a better idea. Explosions solved everything and covered evidence of thefts.

Conveniently, the Allies already had a bombing raid scheduled near Stalag 13, so once the valuables were evacuated, Carter could sneak the explosions into the storage building where the art was being held. Then Hogan could chalk the incident up to carelessness on the part of the Allied air force. Plus, he could ask a few innocent questions about the contents of that storage building, just to put Klink on edge. After all, the official explanation was that Stalag 13 had received an extra shipment of supplies. Never mind that those supplies were carried into the building in oddly flat cartons, in the dead of night, with the smell of aged oil paint in the air.

As Hogan explained to his men, the Germans weren't planning on playing fair with this, so the Heroes didn't need to, either. They were all more than glad to hear this, especially LeBeau, who was one chorus of the _Marseillaise _away from going out in broad daylight and stealing the paintings back himself.

And then Schultz arrived, barging through the door to announce that the visiting general wanted to stay for dinner, and would LeBeau please cook a meal? Hogan frowned but agreed, following Schultz back to Klink's quarters to meet the visiting brass. There, the general eyed Hogan like a specimen in a zoo, asked him a few questions, and finally extended a dinner invitation to him, explaining that he wanted to see if Klink's claims to have cowed the prisoners were true. Hogan just smirked, offered a semi-polite retort, and strolled back out.

Kinch met him at the door with bad news, scribbled on a note. "London says the bombing raid's postponed."

"Damn it." Hogan's first response was a curse, then his mind kicked into action. Seeing the look on his face, Kinch and the rest of the Heroes piled out of the barracks. Newkirk moved closest to Hogan and rested a hand on his shoulders like always. "What've you got, sir?"

"Do we still have any of those sleeping pills?"

"Yes, in the cupboard of your office." LeBeau volunteered the answer, already predicting Hogan's plan. "You want me to sneak them into the general's wine?"

"Yes, him and Klink. I'll be dining with them this evening, so be careful." Hogan leaned against the wall of the barracks. "As soon as night falls, get out to the woods and set some charges. Make them sound like dropped bombs. You take care of that, Carter." Hogan turned towards LeBeau. "How fast do the pills work?"

"In matter of minutes."

"And how long do they last?"

"A few hours, mon colonel."

"Perfect. As soon as dinner starts, give them to Klink and the general. Put them in their drinks, one apiece. Time the charges to go off when they'll be waking up."

At this order, Carter perked up. "Will do, boy! I mean- will do, Colonel Hogan!" He scampered off. With a backwards glance, Hogan directed Kinch to follow him, just for safety's sake.

Newkirk rested against Hogan comfortably. "What about Schultzie and the other guards? Won't they wonder when they don't see any planes?"

"That's why we need a diversion. What haven't we used lately?"

Newkirk ticked items off on his fingers. "We could go through the wire, but that trick's overused. What if we made a hole in the dog pen and let' em loose?"

"Not a chance." LeBeau shook his head. "I just fed the dogs. They'll be sluggish for several hours."

This took Newkirk by surprise. "Several _hours?!_"

LeBeau shrugged and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "What can I say? I had to do _something_ with the leftover wienerschnitzel from the mess hall."

"Save the wienerschnitzel for the Krauts, they'll eat anything. But _don't_ feed it to Klink and the general for dinner tonight. I'll be eating with them." Hogan pulled a face. "Is anyone here a lumberjack?"

"Why, yes, sir." Newkirk slipped into a caricature of an American accent and put his hands on his hips, grabbing Schultz's rifle as the bulky guard trod past and swinging it in imitation of an axe. "Ah'm the best lumberjack ya ever did see!"

"Knock it off." Hogan lightly slapped him on the shoulder and reclaimed the rifle, then gave it back to Schultz, who had ignored the whole incident. "Having a tree fall on the fence would be a great diversion, but we need someone who can cut it safely."

"I think there's someone over in Barracks Four." Newkirk volunteered this information to redeem himself. "Where in the camp d'you want it to fall?"

"Somewhere that it won't hurt anybody, and make it as far away from the storage building as possible." Hogan headed back towards his barracks, bringing Newkirk and LeBeau along with him. "And get going on that dinner. I don't want to end up dead from wienerschnitzel."


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as night fell, the woods filled up slowly with Stalag 13 operatives. Camouflaged and black-clad men clambered out through the tunnel to plant the bombs at one end of the camp and saw through a tree trunk at the other. This job was too big for just the five main Heroes to handle, so they were currently employing some of the Barracks 3 gang, including Baker, Olsen, and a few other figures distinguished in the annals of Stalag 13. Carter was presently overseeing the bomb operation, hurrying to and fro and carefully christening each bomb as it was placed into the ground. He'd even devised a fake one to bury partway in the woods, to complete the illusion of a bombing raid from above, though that reminded Hogan of a certain incident he didn't want to remember.

Meanwhile, Kinch and several others were out in the woods, sawing busily at the trunk of a particularly large, half-dead tree. Kinch, as the resident mathematician, had figured out what angle would be required to make the tree fall straight on the fence and distract the attention of the guards. Hogan had decided that the tree should fall right before the bombing raid, so that instead of looking up at the skies as the 'bombs' began to fall, the guards would be rushing towards the fence. The detonation of the explosions was still at least half an hour away, though, so the men got halfway through the job, then set down their saws and found places in the woods to conceal themselves.

At present, Hogan was in Klink's quarters, being wined and dined as finely as possible, despite Klink's lack of finesse or taste. The wine tasted oddly akin to vinegar, and Klink had insisted on having it served before the men had a chance to slip the sleeping pills into it. Only LeBeau's expert cooking had redeemed the experience. The French chef had rejected Schultz's suggestion of wienerschnitzel and was planning on cooking something with delicately flavored chicken instead, though Hogan had forgotten the name of the dish by now. He ate the first course politely, occasionally glancing at Newkirk, who had been assigned waiter duty and was wearing one of the ostentatious red jackets distributed to whoever served food at Stalag 13's formal dinners. Newkirk gave him a nod and slipped off into the kitchen.

Back in the kitchen, LeBeau was working to keep Schultz distracted long enough to slip the sleeping pills into the wine. Hogan could surely arrange an accident that would necessitate replacing the wine glasses, but LeBeau had no idea what it would be yet, so he was stalling for time. He'd fed Schultz a few scraps already, but the bulky guard kept peering over his shoulder. "Be a good fellow and save some chicken for me, bitte."

"Stop begging. You're like a dog sitting on its hind legs." LeBeau brushed him aside and kept working on the next dish, the much-anticipated chicken. "Hold still and let me balance a treat on your nose."

Schultz huffed in mild indignation and reached over to take a spoonful of the sauce simmering in a pan, blowing on the steaming liquid before slurping it from the spoon. He promptly forgot about LeBeau's remonstration. "Mm, das ist _wunderbar!_"

Newkirk emerged through the door, platter in hand and the wine glasses balanced neatly atop it. "Have we got any of the good stuff? The Colonel talked 'em into switching out the wine for something better." He noticed Schultz, gnawing on a piece of roasted chicken. "Hi, Schultzie."

"_Schultz!_" LeBeau tried to confiscate the chicken from him. "That is for the guests! Newkirk, just pour the same wine into the glasses. They will never know the difference."

"Good point." They wouldn't even be awake to know it. Newkirk chuckled to himself, dispensing the wine and then slipping the pills into the palm of his hand as LeBeau passed them to him. When Schultz's back was turned, Newkirk dropped the pills into the liquid and let them dissolve, swirling the glasses a bit to disperse the powder. He lifted the tray smoothly and headed back out, just in time to hear Hogan trading verbal jabs with the visiting general.

"So I understand you have never had an escape from Stalag 13?" The general shifted the focus of his attention to Klink and then back to Hogan. "Why is that, Colonel? There has been much talk in Berlin of this unusual phenomenon."

At the word 'Berlin' Klink's face lit up, but Hogan ignored him and answered the question, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Funny thing, every plan we make seems to fail. Though I'll admit, the Escape Committee's been plotting some pretty outlandish schemes lately. We've got a hot air balloon in the works, but we're still waiting for the helium tanks to arrive by air mail."

"Silence!" Klink banged his fist on the table, jostling the silverware, and glowered at Hogan. "I will stand for none of your American insolence!"

"Yes, sir, but you're sitting down." Newkirk arrived with the wine on a tray, grinning impudently.

For this, he received a glare from Klink. "_Enough!_"

Hogan addressed the general in a conspiratorial tone. "Our Kommandant's sense of humor makes him very popular with the prisoners."

"I can see that." The general watched as Newkirk served Klink the appropriate glass of wine, then reached for the tray as the corporal drew nearer, reaching for one of the glasses. Newkirk had carefully arranged them so that Hogan's glass was set apart, to avoid inadvertently poisoning his Colonel with the sleeping pills, but the general reached for Hogan's glass instead before Newkirk could stop him and took it, sipping it appreciatively. "Ah, ja, this is _much_ better."

Hogan was unaware that the accidental switch had happened and he reached for the nearest glass, but Newkirk pulled the tray just out of reach. "Sir, you'd better-"

"What are you waiting for, Newkirk, just serve the wine!" Klink brayed from the other end of the table, his attention firmly fixed on Newkirk and Hogan now. Newkirk had no choice. He lowered the remaining glass slowly, setting it in front of Hogan. He made fleeting eye contact with the colonel, but was forced to back away when Klink insisted that Hogan sample the wine to prove its superiority. "Try it, Hogan."

"Yes, Colonel." The general had noticed Hogan's hesitation, and added his input, waiting patiently to see what would happen. "Give it a try, won't you?"

Hogan knew something had gone wrong, but he didn't know what. He was trapped, though. To refuse the wine now would cause a spectacle and prompt an investigation.

He slowly raised the glass to his lips, closed his eyes, and took a sip.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

If Hogan took a drink of the wine that he'd just been served, he very well might be letting liquified sleeping pills slide down his gullet. Fortunately for Hogan, he had plenty of practice at acting. So, instead of washing down LeBeau's extraordinary chicken with a gulp of wine, he sipped it neatly instead, letting as little as possible cross his lips. All eyes were on him, and he faked it as well as he could.

Meanwhile, Newkirk's mind was working quickly, whirling with possibilities. Even if Hogan didn't pass out, Klink still would, and the general would be watching. He soon hit upon an idea, snatched up the platter, and rushed off to the kitchen, door slamming behind him. "Louis! We've got a problem."

"What is it?" LeBeau had been feeding Schultz chicken leftovers, but now glanced up from this activity and put his hands over the sergeant's ears. "Don't tell me. Did something go wrong with the wine?"

"You've got it." Newkirk let out a sigh and sagged against the wall, catching his breath. "That Kraut general got the Colonel's glass."

An expression of horror washed over the little Frenchman's face. "Did le Colonel drink it?!"

"No, 'e tried not to. But I've got a plan. We need to get Klink out of the dining room." Newkirk leapt into action again, taking Schultz by the arm and hauling him away from the plate of leftovers. "Schultzie, I need you to make a fuss. Tell Klink we're escaping, or something. No, wait-" He hit upon an idea and beamed with mischievous glee. "Tell Klink the commandos are attacking!"

To this, he received a bewildered look from Schultz, who stuttered and protested as best he could. "But Newkirk, _why?_ Which commandos? There are no commandos. There is no problem-" He hesitated. "_Is_ there a problem? Will there be- oh, Newkirk, _please..._"

"Just do it, Schultzie! If you do it, there won't _be_ a problem." Newkirk propelled him through the door with some difficulty, giving him a final shove. Schultz stammered and gesticulated at Klink, "Herr- Herr K-kommandant- komm schnell! Something is wrong-"

"Schultz, what are you blathering about?" Klink, obviously irritated, got up from his chair and rushed towards the kitchen, pushing Schultz aside. "What is this? What's going on?"

Newkirk hauled Schultz back into the kitchen just in time to watch Klink collapse, falling prone on the floor with a thud. His monocle rolled across the floor and fell over with a faint clinking noise, and Newkirk caught it in the palm of his hand before helping LeBeau drag Klink back to his feet and transfer him to a nearby chair. Schultz just stood there and gaped, unable to form a coherent sentence, soon reverting to his standby motto. "I see nothing! _No-thing!_ I- I- _nothing!_"

He made an attempt to rush from the room, but Newkirk intervened between Schultz and the door. "Better stay 'ere, Schultzie. When the Kommandant wakes up, 'e's going to be awful mad at you if you're not with 'im."

"Oh, ja, good point!" Schultz's face lit up and he rushed back towards Klink, catching LeBeau's attention on the way. "You give me such good advice. Cockroach, where are the smelling salts?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, reclaimed the tray, and exited the room, striding towards where Hogan and the general now sat. The two officers were making small talk about nothing in particular, and the Colonel was conscious still, that was a good sign.

Newkirk leaned over and stage-whispered into Hogan's ear, making sure only the word 'window' was audible. Once prompted in this way, Hogan nodded and moved to get up, but the general intervened instead, fixing Newkirk with a smug stare. "You want him to come to the window, hm? You have something you want your Colonel to see. Why don't I take a look instead?"

Newkirk hid a smile and nodded, stepping back just long enough for the general to cross the room and look out the window. Then he crept up behind him, raised the platter, and smacked him soundly over the head with it, knocking him out at full force. The German officer slumped forward immediately, out cold and lying prone on the floor of Klink's quarters.

Hogan rose from his seat and rushed over to the scene of the impromptu assault. He was showing signs of being a bit drowsy, but he still had his senses intact enough to know what was going on. Mostly. "Why'd you do _that?_"

"The glass 'e got didn't have any sleeping powder in it!" Newkirk justified his actions as best he could while trying and failing to transfer the general into a chair. "If 'e saw Klink fall asleep in front of his very eyes, 'e'd start to wonder. And we don't need some Kraut general sniffing around our operation!"

"You can say _that_ again." Hogan let out a breath, resting his head in his hands. "I figured something was wrong, but I thought _Klink_ was the one who got the normal glass!"

LeBeau arrived at Hogan's side. "No, mon Colonel. That was why we got him into the kitchen, so he could pass out there instead."

He was followed immediately by a frantic Schultz. "Colonel Hogan! _Colonel Hogan!_ What is happening here?!" He stopped, panted for breath, and grabbed one of the wine glasses - Klink's, as it happened. With a flourish, he lifted it and prepared to drink it down, but Newkirk lunged at him, knocking the glass from his hand. Schultz toppled over, too, in the process, his built-in padding cushioning his fall. He flailed like an overturned turtle, struggling to get to his feet. "Newkirk! What was _that_ for?"

"It's safer that way, Schultzie. Just go check on Klink." Once the sergeant had stumbled off towards the kitchen again, Newkirk let loose with a string of British expletives, LeBeau attempted to blot the wine stains in the carpet, and Hogan rested his head in his hands, trying to dispel rising nausea and drowsiness from the small portion of sleeping medicine he'd received. "What now, gov'nor?"

"I don't know." Hogan fixed his gaze on Newkirk. "Our original operation's FUBAR, that much is for sure. How long until those bombs go off?"

"Half an 'our." Newkirk checked his watch. "Kinch and the rest are out there working on the tree. It's almost ready."

"How'd they cover for the noise?"

"We put up construction warning signs on the road outside of camp this afternoon, mon Colonel. You gave us the order yourself." LeBeau intercepted here. "Maybe you should take a rest and leave this to us."

"No, I'm fine." Hogan would stop if he thought he was endangering the mission, but for now, he was just a bit tired. "Okay, get Carter up here and take the bombs out of the woods."

"What?!" Newkirk stared at him. "'Ave you gone _mad_, gov?"

"No. Scratch the fake bombing mission. We're making this a fake Gestapo raid instead."

Light dawned in Newkirk's eyes. "So we can say the Gestapo hit 'em all over the 'ead and stole the art!"

"Right." Hogan gave a crooked little smile. "The tree on the wire still goes, that'll distract the guards. The bombs need to be disarmed, though. Too much going on at once. Get 'em out of the woods."

LeBeau hit the lever to move aside the fireplace and descended into the tunnel. "I will go tell Carter."

The colonel followed after him, though, dispensing another instruction in his wake. "Get Walters and Addison up here to watch the Krauts."

"At once, mon Colonel." LeBeau saluted him, then disappeared down the tunnel entrance. "I hope you know what you are doing."

Hogan's expression was grim. "So do I."

_Author's note: I received a review implying that FUBAR was a modern acronym and Hogan would not have used it. After some research, I'm glad to say this is not the case._

_"__FUBAR_ stands for _fucked up beyond all recognition/repair/reason_, like SNAFU and SUSFU, dates from World War II. The Oxford English Dictionary lists _Yank, the Army Weekly magazine_ (1944, 7 Jan. p. 8) as its earliest citation."


	4. Chapter 4

"Carter!" Hogan leaned down over the tunnel entrance beneath the stove in Klink's quarters, shouting down into the space beneath. He squatted on his haunches, balancing himself by gripping the side of the trapdoor, and craned his neck to get closer. "_Carter!"_

"I'm right here, Colonel!" Carter emerged abruptly via the ladder, covered in dust and dirt. Clambering out, he promptly tracked the muck from his shoes onto Klink's rug. "We took care of the bombs. Got 'em all outta the forest!"

"_Andrew!_" Newkirk's speech pattern was punctuated more than usual by mild British expletives. He hastened towards the grimy sergeant, shoving him back towards the tunnel entrance. "The ruddy Gestapo doesn't prance around the woods, so get off the bleedin' carpet or we'll have some explainin' to do!"

"Why not?" Hogan shrugged, rising to his feet again and straightening out his jacket before intervening between the quarreling soldiers. "They can if they want to. We're going to say the Gestapo cut through the wire, after all. They'd probably have to go through the forest to do that, assuming they stayed away from the front gate."

Newkirk nodded, the pieces of the plan starting to fit together in his mind. "Right."

"It'll be a typical smash-and-grab operation, even if it's fake. Break in, steal the art, and leave." Hogan was getting a clearer idea of the whole mess, too. "The guards should be occupied by the tree falling on the wire."

"The guys've been sawin' on that all day, but real quiet, so the Krauts don't hear." Carter's eyes lit up. "Boy, when that thing falls, it's going to squash the fence and be the biggest disaster you ever saw! We're cutting it at an angle so it'll-"

"Easy, fella." Hogan patted him on the shoulder. "Where's LeBeau?"

"Here, mon Colonel." The short Frenchman popped out of the kitchen door, brandishing a tray of hastily assembled hors d'oeuvres. Schultz wandered along behind him, plucking a handful from the platter and shoving the scraps of food into his mouth. "What is it you need?"

Newkirk glanced at the pair. "Look at ol' Schultzie. He's eatin' his guilt."

Schultz frowned deeply towards the Englishman. "Das ist nicht nett!"

"Leave it, Newkirk. Schultz, we're _very _sorry for the inconvenience." Hogan shook his head. He'd owe Schultz a couple batches of LeBeau's strudel after this one. "Are Addison and Walters up here yet?"

"Right here, Colonel Hogan." Addison climbed out of the tunnel, brushing a bit of dust off the shoulders of his jacket. "What d'you need, sir?"

"Where's Walters?"

"In the woods with Baker and Kinch."

"Fine. Get Broughton up here. Have him bring some rope to tie up Klink and the general." Broughton's rope-tying skills were excellent, Hogan had discovered after a few hair-raising missions. "We need to make this convincing."

"Got it." Addison disappeared back into the tunnel, leaving the trapdoor open in his wake.

"Right this way, Schultz." LeBeau was busy herding the fat sergeant back towards the kitchen, holding the platter of hors d'oeuvres out in front of him as a bribe. "Follow me, this way. We can see nothing together."

"Why not?" Schultz muttered under his breath in a defeated tone. "Donner-wetter! To think that _I_ am a witness to all this!"

"No you're not, Schultzie." Newkirk struck up a conversation with the guard as they headed into the kitchen. "You hear nothing, you see nothing, so there's nothin' here to witness. Right?"

"Right!" Schultz turned to agree with him emphatically, then nearly tripped over the prone bodies of Klink and the general, catching himself and exclaiming in dismay. "Cockroach, can't you put them somewhere where it is _easier_ for me to see nothing?"

LeBeau responded with frustration. "How am I supposed to carry away two grown men who have eaten nothing but potatoes and schnitzel all their life?" He prodded Schultz's gut. "I doubt that even _you_ could lift them!"

"Don't worry. I've got it, Schultzie." Newkirk took hold of the general's shoulders, dragging the man's prone body unceremoniously into the living room. Hogan soon joined him, and the two managed to set the unconscious officer up against the living room table. "Thanks, gov'nor."

"Much better." Hogan stepped back, hands on his hips. "Go get Klink."

Newkirk glanced at him. "By meself?"

"Come on. He can't weigh _that_ much if he's full of hot air." Hogan made his way back towards the tunnel, just in time to meet Broughton, who was carrying a coil of rope. "Go tie up the general."

"Will do." The private started on the task, binding up the fallen German much like the Gestapo would. As soon as Newkirk managed to haul Klink out of the kitchen, he helped Broughton do the same to the camp Kommandant, whose monocle fell from his eye and landed once again with a clatter. Newkirk plucked it from the floor and tried to put it back in its proper place in Klink's eye socket, but to no avail. He settled for stuffing it into one of the German colonel's pockets, then followed Hogan into the tunnel.

"What next, Colonel?"

"Well, we're going to have to store the art here until they stop looking for it. Gestapo or not, you _know_ that general's going to have kittens when he finds out his treasure's been plundered." He held up a hand before Newkirk could interject. "And we've both heard that old saying about stealing from a thief, but this one's a little different. He might not buy our story. We've got to be careful."

"Right." Newkirk leaned against the wall, brow furrowed in a puzzled expression. "So how'd the imaginary Gestapo take the art out, again?"

"They carried it through the woods. It's not impossible. This batch is all paintings. No statues, no rugs, none of that."

Newkirk interjected with a smirk. "The general's very discerning."

''Or he's just economical about his storage space. It's easier to hide a painting than a sculpture."

"Depends." Newkirk cracked a grin. "Paint a little mustache on it and you could hide a statue in plain sight around here."

"Yeah? I'd like to see you hide the Venus de Milo." Hogan returned the smile, clasping a hand on Newkirk's shoulder and bringing him towards the main room of the tunnel. "Come on."

Newkirk reciprocated, putting his hand on Hogan's waist for half a second before shying away and striding ahead of him. "What now?"

Hogan faced him directly. "Now, we get ready to rob the Krauts."

Faces darkened with shoe polish and neatly sewn black clothes hugging their frames, the motley crew of prisoner operatives were fully prepared to commit an art heist. Hogan would be leading the charge, with Newkirk close behind, and Carter and Olsen would bring up the rear. LeBeau would be watching Schultz in the kitchen until the signal was given, and Kinch, Baker, and a few others were on duty in the woods. After the tree fell, any remaining prisoners who were part of the operation would come help with the removal of the art. At least, that was how Hogan had planned that the heist would take place.

"Okay, here's the plan." Hogan stopped in front of the ladder and turned to address his assembled group of saboteurs. "We let the tree fall, which'll divert the Krauts. Then we come up through the tunnel in the storage building where the art's being kept, take it all out of the frames, bring it into the tunnel, and stash it until we can smuggle it out."

"Why not keep it in the frames and hang it up in here?" Carter piped up. "We can have an art gallery of our own, and charge admission, and-"

Hogan gave him a _look._ "The art stays in storage down here until it's safe to take it out. We've got a few watertight rooms, we'll put it in those." He cleared his throat and continued. "Once we've got it all out, I'll put my uniform on and go back to the party. One of you will have to hit me over the head and tie me up with the others."

"Right-o, gov'nor." Newkirk grinned. "I'll do it. Just 'ard enough to knock you out, but not so 'ard that you can't remember what 'appened. Correct?"

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what I want the Krauts to think happened to me." Hogan contemplated the idea. "The story is, Schultz spotted them coming through the window, so he alerted Klink and called him to the kitchen, but the Gestapo overpowered him-" Hogan frowned deeply. "No, that doesn't work. If the Gestapo was in the kitchen, they'd have gotten Schultz too, since that's where he was." He kept talking, trying to work out the train of thought. "Okay, the Gestapo hit Klink over the head after that happened, then went out into the dining room to take care of me and the general. By the time they got back to the kitchen, Schultz and LeBeau were gone, since Schultz had taken the prisoners back to the barracks for safety."

Newkirk nodded. "That works."

"I'm so glad you approve." Hogan glanced at him. "Then Schultz went out to get the guards, but the tree fell and they needed to deal with that first to prevent a mass escape. None of the guards know what's in that storage building, right?"

"Nope." Olsen shook his head. "Klink knows, but not the guards. Not even Schultz."

Newkirk snorted. "_Especially_ not ol' Schultzie."

"Okay, so logically, they would've left the Gestapo alone and worried about the tree. After all, it's Kraut instinct to avoid the Gestapo. Right?"

Hogan's fellow saboteurs chorused in unison. "Right!"

"So while all this is happening, one of you is going to have to go out and cut the wire near the storage building on the opposite side of the camp."

Hearing this, Carter lunged for a box of tools, but Hogan grabbed him by the arm, reprimanding the sergeant. "_After_ the tree falls, when no one's looking that way!"

"Sorry, Colonel Hogan." Carter released the wire cutters he'd snatched, a mildly dejected look on his face. "Then what?"

"Then we make some footprints-" Hogan was suddenly struck by an idea. "Hey. Carter, put on a pair of those German uniform boots. You too, Newkirk."

"What for, gov'nor?"

"So the footprints can't be traced back to us. After we get the art out, you two get out there and go back and forth through the gap in the wire and into the woods. Make some tracks, and make it convincing."

"Can do, sir." The pair scurried away to change, then returned shortly afterwards. The knee-high shiny leather boots were noticeably incongruous with the rest of their outfits. "What now?"

Hogan thought for a moment. "Pull your pants down over the boots. They won't shine in the moonlight that way."

Newkirk and Carter did as ordered, then looked back at him. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Hogan went through his mental checklist. "Gloves for all of you, no exceptions. We don't want to leave _any_ traces of being here."

Olsen rummaged around in one of the bins of supplies, then tossed a pair towards each individual saboteur. "Here you go."

"And pliers, to take the paintings out of the frames?"

Carter pulled several pairs of pliers out of his pockets and passed them out. "Got 'em, sir."

"Newkirk, can you make the lock on the door look like it was forced?"

"No trouble at all, gov."

"Good." Hogan frowned as another idea occurred to him. "If the general doesn't buy our story, we're going to need a backup plan. How many men do we have available?"

"At least a dozen, sir."

"Okay. As soon as we get that art out - and _all_ of it - we're going to need to backfill that tunnel."

Carter stared at him. "You can't _do_ that! I mean- we just _can't!_ Not in a night!"

"We can and we will. I don't care what it takes. We've never stolen as openly as this before."

"Not even the gold heist?"

"Not even that. _This_ is directly traceable to us. Aside from the Gestapo, we're the prime suspects, and you can bet that Kraut general _isn't_ going to be happy once he finds out what happened." Hogan's face showed he was deadly serious. "So we need that tunnel filled in as soon as everyone's out. It's a side tunnel, anyway. It shouldn't be too much trouble. How many hours are left on that sleeping powder?"

Newkirk had the answer. "At least three, sir."

"And you hit the general hard enough that he'll be out for a while longer. Good." Hogan checked his watch, taking note of the starting time. "Newkirk?"

"Yes, sir?" The Englishman beamed at him, awaiting orders.

"Get up to Klink's quarters. Tell LeBeau to tell Schultz to follow the story I made up."

"Which is..." Newkirk racked his brains. "The Gestapo showed up, hit 'em all over the head and tied 'em up, Schultz managed to escape and hide with LeBeau, then called the guards out to investigate when the tree fell?"

Hogan grinned, his expression belying the seriousness of the situation. "So far, you're perfect."

"I'm flattered, gov." Newkirk tilted his head to the side and smirked cheekily, then a look of concern flashed across his face. "But the ruddy tree 'asn't fallen yet."

"Just wait." Hogan turned towards Carter as Newkirk darted away to fulfill his job. "Go out through the emergency tunnel and tell Kinch to finish up with the tree."

"How soon?"

"As soon as possible. Within a few minutes, at least. And, for the love of Pete, make sure it falls the right way. We don't want a repeat of the Crittendon incident." Hogan didn't need to clarify beyond that. But, Kinch was in charge, so it'd probably be done right.

"Will do! I won't disappoint you, sir." Carter's eyes were bright with nervous enthusiasm.

"I'm not worried about that." Hogan pushed him lightly towards the ladder. "Just get out there." "I'll be right back!" Carter dashed towards the exit and up the ladder, scrambling out and into the woods.

"Good luck." Hogan called after him, then glanced at Olsen. "Go get the boys from Barracks 2 and 3. We're going to do a relay down the tunnel to the storage building, to get the art out faster."

"Got it." Olsen started towards the exit, then turned back towards him. "Anything special I should tell them to bring?"

Hogan nodded. "Yeah. Willing spirits, able hands, and shovels for when we're done."

"I'll let them know." Olsen grinned and disappeared towards the tunnel, chuckling to himself.

Newkirk appeared beside Hogan again, having completed his mission. "LeBeau and Schultz are all set. Schultz is 'avin' a hard time figurin' this out, but 'e's learned to follow what we say. They'll be fine."

"Just like he should." The colonel placed his hands on Newkirk's shoulders, looking at him directly and trying to dispel his anxiety about this whole mess by light conversation. "This operation should be right up your alley."

"I always 'ad a taste for masterpieces, you know. Never got to do much more than small-scale theft, but I'm open to expanding my frontiers." Newkirk smiled to conceal his worry. "It isn't every day we get our 'ands on a fortune in paintings."

"And getting to take it away from the Germans is even sweeter." Hogan smirked and released Newkirk, only to be interrupted by the breathless arrival of Carter. "Ready to go, sir! They're sawing through the tree as we speak! In just a few minutes, we'll hear a mighty crash-"

"Carter, I promise you'll have a wonderful career as a sports announcer after the war." Hogan quieted him with a firm glance. "For now, keep a lid on it."

"Will do, sir! Boy, you can bet I'll-" Carter grinned and nodded, then realized what Hogan had said and quieted himself down. "Sorry, sir. It's just nerves."

The faint clamor of men pushing their way through the tunnels met their ears. Several seconds later, Olsen emerged with a trail of soldiers following behind him. "We're all set."

"Great." A genuine grin flashed across Hogan's face. "Let's get ready to steal some art."

_Author's note: Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'm intentionally writing a very complicated plot, and if you notice any dropped plot threads that I've missed, please let me know so I can correct it._


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